I really don’t like where we are right now and I’m not alone. What we all thought would be a relatively short season of dealing with a worldwide pandemic has stretched to over half a year, and we’re not done yet. We’re all tense, some more frightened than others, and everybody is taking sides. Those wearing masks glare at those who are barefaced, declaring that they just don’t care for others. Those who don’t wear masks refuse to be dictated to by those they blame for fanning the flames of panic and paranoia, declining to give in to what they see as government control and a misleading media. With no clear end in sight, we distance ourselves from others, both physically and philosophically. Everybody is right and everybody is wrong.
And that’s not good.
Not only is a pandemic raging, but so are protests over racial injustice, some leading to violence and hatred spewing from all sides. In the meantime, there are necessary demands for more accountability and unbiased reporting and collective wisdom and shared empathy. None of which is likely to happen immediately, if at all. The best I can report is that so far, Chicken Little hasn’t arrived, and the sky hasn’t fallen. Not yet, but it’s early.
And that’s good.
We stay behind closed doors as much as possible. We conduct business remotely. We hoard toilet paper and all-purpose flour and dog food and whatever else will ensure our individual continuance on this earth. Schools and churches have been closed for months, gingerly reopening only with strict distancing requirements in place. No hugging, no shaking hands, not even much eye contact, although that last one is not required; it just seems to pair well with the whole distancing thing. Nobody knows how it will all play out, but we do know we have very little control over it.
And that’s not good.
If I had more energy and less apathy and a whole lot more expertise, I’m sure I’d develop a treatise on the damage this whole situation is wreaking. I’d suggest that physical distance enables us to also mentally distance ourselves from the discomfort of caring for others and acknowledging their presence. It gives us a pass. It makes it far too easy to close ourselves off from what we really should be seeing and being moved by. A closed door, a six-foot distance, a mask—they’re all pretty good methods of dividing us, of separating us, of hiding us from one another, even if that is not at all the original intent. Separation encourages self-isolation and self-preservation, and whatever other “self” related activities can calm our fear and ensure our individual longevity. I’d suggest that all of that might be necessary in the short run, but I pray that it never becomes a habit or lifestyle in the long run.
Because that would not be good. Not at all.
But then, I’m really not capable of such sweeping socioeconomic and somewhat judgmental analysis. I’m not trained in the medical field and I’m not a politician and I’m not a sociologist and I’m not a preacher. I do have convictions and I do have opinions, but I’m not going to argue them here and you won’t find them on any social media feed. I just know what I know.
And it troubles me.
At some point in the hopefully near future, we’ll work our way out of this. Maybe we’ll remember how to greet one another. Maybe we won’t feel too lost without a facial covering to shield us from others. Maybe we’ll learn how to hug again and shake hands and mean it when we say, “It’s good to see you.” Doors will swing wide, welcoming us in without reservation, without arrows pointing us in the direction we are to go. We might even get to leave through the same door that brought us in. Newscasts won’t constantly center on dire statistics and people will learn to trust again. We might never completely trust our politicians or national news media, and I’m sure we’ll be more careful in a lot of ways, but it is my deepest hope that we’ll once more trust one another and feel free to share our happiest moments. And I really hope we don’t forget one another.
Because that would not be good.
For lives are built around those shared experiences and traditions. Families and friends thrive together, but that’s going to mean stepping away from fear and isolation. Everybody wants to live for as long as possible and I don’t blame anyone for taking precautions. But we mustn’t forget to live while we’re trying to live. Days will pass, regardless of how we spend them. Let’s just make sure we treat each day like the treasure that it is.
Several years ago, my daughter shared a piece of literature she was required to read in her English Lit class. For some reason, it touched my soul although I can’t recall the title or author. It really is quite depressing, but it makes a stellar point. The story revolves around a young man who has an intuition that something remarkable is going to happen in his life if he just waits for it. So he waits. Each day, he stays in his house, refusing to join others for parties or celebrations or walks or conversation. He refuses because he fears that he will miss the “something remarkable.” So friends stop calling as the days drag by. Then the days become months, and months become years. He ages and finally dies, with only a neighbor in attendance. He dies while waiting on the remarkable thing, never realizing that the remarkable thing is a life well lived. He squanders his life as he waits to live. If that’s not depressing, I don’t know what is. But it’s literature and it actually does make a valid point.
Let’s not do that. Let’s not hide from life as we seek to save it. Let’s be aware and cautious, but not fearful. For when this is all over, we’ll look back and see several months—hopefully not years—spent in seclusion and behind plexiglass and in drive-thru lines, safe from the discomfort of unnecessary contact and conversation, perfecting our skill at avoiding others, keeping our distance, and preserving our longevity.
Let’s just please not forget how to live.
Because that would not be good.
